


I ♥ NY (And Strippers Too! - the ‘Shaking Dat Ass’ mix)

by oddegg



Series: New York, New York [2]
Category: X-Men: First Class (2011) - Fandom
Genre: Drunkenness, M/M, Shenanigans, Strippers, i love that shenanigans is a tag, i spend too much time researching this shit, i would pay to see video of this
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-07-19
Updated: 2011-07-19
Packaged: 2017-10-21 13:50:51
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,444
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/225895
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/oddegg/pseuds/oddegg
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A flashback fill for the I ♥ NY (It’s My Friends I’m Not Sure Of)verse. Because an anon wanted Stripper!Erik and I'm too easily persuaded.</p>
            </blockquote>





	I ♥ NY (And Strippers Too! - the ‘Shaking Dat Ass’ mix)

Erik watched what was happening in front of him with studied concentration and then, through the clarity provided by two bottles of Cristal, several Jägerbombs, a couple of lines of coke and some drink that had been pink and fruity and came with a bendy straw he came to a realisation.

No. A _revelation_.

“I could do that.”

His companion for the evening (what the fuck was the guy’s name? Erik thought he might have fucked him last week but couldn’t be sure. Ah, fuck it – he was going to call him Bob) raised his head from off the rather sticky table, peered muzzily at the stage and slurred “Wha? DJ?”

Erik rolled his eyes. God, some people were an _embarrassment_ when they overindulged. He himself felt _fine_. He said in a loud, slow voice “No. Not the DJing, the stripping.”

‘Bob’ gaped at him in a confused and unattractive manner. Shit, Erik hoped he hadn’t fucked the guy. He’d hate to think his standards had slipped that much.

He felt a rush of wellbeing (or maybe that was the last round of shots) and decided that the gospel of ‘Erik the stripper’ needed to be spread to the other patrons of this lovely establishment. It was, like, an _obligation_ or something.

He rose, suddenly full of the fervent belief of a zealot, and strode over to the stage. Or rather stumbled over; the floor appeared to be dangerously unlevel. Ignoring the sad treachery of floor-stuff, Erik leaned onto the stage (swaying slightly. Damn floor) and shouted up at the guy currently on the platform.

“Hey! I can do that!”

The guy, dressed in nothing but imitation-leather pants and biker boots, didn’t pause in his slow circling of the metal pole but did look over at Erik with a raised eyebrow. Erik gestured commandingly. “Give me a hand up.”

Other people were starting to look over as well, and there were a couple of encouraging catcalls from around the club. The guy on stage finally stood still and cocked his head, regarding Erik thoughtfully. Then he darted a look over at the bar before looking back with a wide, mischievous grin on his face. He leaned down and offered an arm. “Come on up den, _cher_. Show us wha’ you dun got.”

Erik grabbed the arm and boosted himself up, turning to face his audience, his _people_ , who were starting to gather in more force around the stage, laughing up at him and nudging each other and pointing. He heard a wolf whistle from the back of the club.

Looking over his shoulder, he saw the biker stripper leaning over the DJ’s booth and then the first scratchy beats of a song came on. Erik recognised the opening of ‘Closer’ by Nine Inch Nails and threw back his head and laughed.

There was a small roar of approval from the crowd as they recognised it too, and Erik kept his head back, held his arms straight out and started to circle his hips to the beat.

On _‘You let me violate you’_ he snapped his elbows back in and grabbed the lapels of his jacket, throwing it off his shoulders for the next line. On _‘You let me penetrate you’_ he slid one hand down to his crotch to rub his palm there.

He threw the jacket off completely on the first _‘Help me!’_ ; hurled it off to the side somewhere as he started to move in a slinking whirl around the stage. The crowd was making a continuous noise now, pressing up close and watching him eagerly.

He reached out and grabbed the pole with one hand, twirled round it once and then leaned back to grasp it behind him and pump his hips to _‘I wanna fuck you like an animal’_.

The crowd _howled_. Erik slowly pushed up the sleeveless shirt he was wearing, eyes closed and an expression of ecstasy on his face – and then he ripped the shirt off over his head and threw that away too.

He held his arms out again and turned in one slow circle, still moving his hips. Then he gripped the pole and jumped up onto it, wrapping his legs around it and spinning round.

He heard a voice in the crowd yelp out _‘Oh, fuck me – **yes!** ’_ and he started laughing again, joy bubbling up. He kept one leg twisted round the pole and let himself fall back in a graceful bow, then began moving and rocking his torso, crossed his hands behind his neck and pulsed up in time to the music in mock crunches.

Erik let his head and arms fall back again, twirled round slowly with just one ankle hooked round the pole. He felt giddy, invulnerable. The pole wouldn’t let him fall, he was its master. He was its metal _god!_

And the audience! He was their god too! He thrust away from the pole and fell to his knees at the front, dragging his hands across his chest – hands that were swiftly joined by others as people reached out to touch him and push bills into the waistband of his low slung pants, lingering on his hips and thighs.

 _‘You get me closer to god’_ hissed the lyrics and Erik’s hands flew to the front of his pants, fingers undoing the button with teasing slowness as he bit his lip and tossed his head back and forth.

Button finally undone, he slid his fingers down inside, started slipping them down millimetre by tantalizing millimetre. His hipbones revealed themselves, the top curve of his ass, the widening trail of his pubic hair, the taught skin of his lower belly…

And then over the music he heard a shout from the bar of “Oh, for fuck’s sake! _LeBeau!_ Get that guy down before he loses us our license!”

Warm arms snaked round his waist and stilled his hands, pulling him back up onto his feet and holding him close against a bare chest slightly damp with sweat. Or was that him that was sweating? A laughing voice said in his ear “Dat’s enough now! Man, are you wearing _anytink_ under dem pants?”

Erik rolled his head to the side and looked back at the biker stripper. He said petulantly “Of course not! It would ruin the line.”

The stripper snorted a laugh into the bare skin of Erik’s neck, warm and tickling, and then called out to the loudly disappointed crowd “Shows over, folks! Sorry, but der’s _rules_ ‘gainst full frontal in N’York!”

Then he pulled Erik away and through a curtain at the back, into a cool, industrial corridor with concrete walls. He held onto Erik all the time and to be honest Erik was glad of the support. He was beginning to feel a little dizzy from all that twirling. Or maybe that pink, fruity drink had been a mistake. He was actually feeling a bit _drunk_.

“Shall ah go git your fren’, _beb_? Wha’s his name?”

Erik snuggled in further to the warm, solid body holding him up, appreciating the feeling of skin on skin, and slurred “Don’t know his name. I decided to call him Bob.”

His knight in shining pleather gave a huff and pushed him gently back to rest against the wall, looking at him with a raised eyebrow. “You don’ recall your gen’lmen frens’ names?”

Erik gave an expansive, regal wave of his hand. “If it’s under six inches, you don’t get remembered.” He looked at his new friend appreciatively: dark, wavy hair, pretty looks, and eyes of such a bright chestnut brown that they seemed to glow. “What’s _your_ name?”

The guy gave him a sharp grin and crowded Erik back up against the wall, palms either side of Erik’s head bracketing him in and a slim, muscled thigh sliding between his legs and pressing up lightly. Erik could feel the press of something else against his thigh as well and _oh_ yeah… This guy was definitely getting remembered, whatever his name was.

For his accent if nothing else, which curled around Erik like the smoothest, warmest bourbon ever as the man leaned in to say softly “Ah’s called Remy, _cher_. You goin’ to remember dat?”

Erik tipped his head back to look at Remy through his lashes and smiled as he hooked fingers through the guy’s belt loops to pull him even closer. Remy came with a smirk and Erik breathed out against his lips “Well, let’s see what tricks you’ve got up your sleeve first…”

*

He did remember Remy’s name, and remembered it with fondness.

Even though the guy had stolen Erik’s wallet when he snuck out the next morning.

**Author's Note:**

> Through the research that is *obviously* necessary to write a silly side fill about drunken stripping, I decided that Erik was wearing clothes from Helmut Lang's 2004 Spring/Summer collection here.
> 
> And eyeliner. He's wearing eyeliner too. *goes to happy place*


End file.
